


The Way You Hide That Shadow

by ThisMessIsAPlace (McFearo)



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Legion-Aligned Courier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McFearo/pseuds/ThisMessIsAPlace
Summary: Damianus plays caravan with No-Bark, who says you can see the future in the cards. To Damianus' dismay, No-Bark is right more often than he's given credit for.





	The Way You Hide That Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Written primarily as an exercise to get a feel for my Legion Courier, who -- though he refers to himself internally as his real name, Damianus -- is better known on Tumblr by his cover name of "Dixie Greene."
> 
> He isn't much of a talker but we'll figure him out yet.

The clatter of dishes stacked up a little too roughly caught Damianus a dirty look from a local, who sat nursing her beer a few seats down. "People use those," she said. "Don't come in here breaking everything."

  
  
He nodded and said "Sorry," clear and measured as he could make it. Since Goodsprings he'd had a slur like he'd been drinking, but the black stitches studding his jaw from cheek to ear painted a clear enough picture that no one said anything about it.

  
  
No-Bark seized the last of the abandoned dishes that were sitting between them and shoved them aside at least as haphazardly as Damianus had done it, but no one corrected him. When the space was cleared he pulled a deck of cards from his pocket.

  
  
"You've played before?" No-Bark asked. He had a way of staring intensely after asking a question, as if looking for any tell to trip up a liar. Damianus could already tell it must unsettle people, but he didn't mind it; a lot of people did that, really. No-Bark just didn't know he wasn't discreet about it, or else he didn't care.

  
  
It didn't seem to matter how trivial the question was, either: they all warranted intense scrutiny. Perhaps the logic was that if you'd lie about the time of day, you'd lie about anything at all.

  
  
"Yes, Mister Noonan." Damianus produced the deck Ringo had given him and turned it over in his hands. "But not much," he added after a moment's thought. "And I'm not very good."

  
  
"Ohhhhh, that's what _every_ card shark says."

  
  
"Are they really sharks?" Damianus asked wryly, and cut and shuffled his deck one-handed. He was maybe showing off a little. Mostly there was just the satisfaction of doing it.

  
  
No-Bark's eyes followed the twist of his fingers suspiciously, but already he was nodding.

  
  
"Sharks what mutated to walk on land, y'see. Used to be they shedded their teeth and grew new ones, like a regular teeth _factory_ , but they traded it in for legs." No-Bark leaned in close to add in a conspiratorial whisper:

  
  
"They _plays_ for teeth, take 'em right out of your jaw to add to their horrible mouths. You'll see the extras stuffed in and know they ain't human.

  
  
"Do you ever smile?" No-Bark asked then, with all the subtlety of a brick.

  
  
Damianus indulged him with the best smile he could manage; half his face throbbed.

  
  
No-Bark hummed, squinting through the gap of his missing tooth, then nodded with reluctant approval.

  
  
Few people milled around the mess tent in the late afternoon. As they shuffled their cards and drew, the settler who had chastised Damianus finished her beer and wandered off, leaving them mostly alone. There were others nearby, outside the tent, but far enough their conversation was just faint noise.

  
  
While No-Bark smacked his lips and grumbled at his hand, Damianus drew his glasses out of his backpack to see his own better. Rather than put them on just now, he kept them folded in his left hand and peered through them like a magnifying glass.

  
  
No-Bark laid a two down on his first caravan, and Damianus answered it with a three of spades. He watched the old man peek curiously at his selection.

  
  
"You see my future in it?" Damianus asked with a faint smile.

  
  
Tapping the card with his finger, No-Bark shook his shaggy head. "Nonono. That card's your past. Where you come from, who you are." As he spoke he played his second card. "Ain't only the future the cards show. See all manner of very telling things leadin' to it, if you pays attention."

  
  
"Tell me," Damianus said, and laid down another to the right of the first, a ten of clubs.

  
  
"Oh no, can't rush the cards -- they'll talk when they're good and ready. Get all three caravans started and they'll start to whisper," No-Bark grumbled. Then he added as an afterthought: "Second one's where you're at now, what you're after y'see." He nodded at the ten.

  
  
In another round Damianus played a two of spades, and watched No-Bark's eyes flick between the three caravans. He was more interested in Damianus' cards than his own.

  
  
"Well?" Damianus prompted.

  
  
"Mmm... You had a loss what hurt like the dickens -- a, uuh separation from somethin'. Maybe a reference to that tooth, front ones are always a shame to see go." No-Bark leaned in and squinted at him again. "Unless you're playing to replace it?"

  
  
Damianus kept his face blank, with a little difficulty. Smiling hurt too much, and he gathered No-Bark found an excess of them suspicious -- then again, he seemed to find everything suspicious. "Just your caps will do, Mister Noonan," he said lightly.

  
  
"Ha! If you thinks you can take 'em. Now, lemme see." No-Bark played another card almost absently, his eyes still caught on Damianus' own. "Presently you're overburdened with a sense o' responsibility -- the path you picked is a hard 'un. That's probably the courierin'."

  
Damianus nodded. No-Bark kept looking at him, as if waiting for him to add something, and he remembered conversations tended to be two-way affairs.

  
  
"It's a hard life," he agreed. "Couriering, I mean."

  
  
"Them Mojave Express fellers always come through looking like they done been chewed by a deathclaw in the morning," said No-Bark, scratching at his unkempt beard, "and are resigned to do it again by sunset.

  
  
"They got a underground cloning operation at the Hub office," he added conversationally. "Only way to keep a full roster. Keep copies of you couriers in tanks on standby."

  
  
"Do they?" Damianus ventured dubiously.

  
  
"Oh yeah. There's a _baby you_ floating in a jar down in the basement, mark my words." No-Bark mimed writing something down. "Made outta skin cells off the pen you done signed your contract with. Right there written in the contract, too, if you read it."

  
  
"That's my fault then." Damianus shrugged. "I don't like reading."

  
"That'll learn you. Might not even be the _first_ you." No-Bark squinted at him. "How would you know?"

  
  
"Ignorance is bliss, I suppose."

  
  
No-Bark snorted in agreement. "Ain't that the truth. Take it from me: knowing is a heavy burden to bear."

  
  
He tapped the two of spades on the third caravan, remembering at last that they had a purpose.

 

  
"Thisun tells where you're headed, and it's a doozy. You're gonna be stuck 'tween two hard choices. At a stalemate with yourself, holdin' back on what you really want.

  
  
"That there's like to be supper," said No-Bark with a wise, self-satisfied nod. "I always feels that way when it's supper time and I gotta choose. Speakin' of which," he added, rapping his knuckles on the table, "we're comin' up on it soon and you been stallin' this round enough. Let's move the game along now, son."

  
  
Damianus huffed a small laugh and shook his head, then lifted his glasses to look at his hand.

  
  
Having his fortune read was an entertaining diversion, but it was all a vaguery, a shot in the dark.

  
  
No one in the East or West could attest to a life without loss or difficulty, and an unspecified hard choice in the future was a wide net to cast -- if he lived long enough it was inevitable. He could then point to any dilemma after the fact and claim it was foretold.

  
  
All the same it was a way to kill time until night fell, and then he had leads to follow.

  
Another round passed, and he played the game as a game, focusing his efforts on the middle caravan -- his "present" according to No-Bark.

  
  
"You picked your path to get recognized," No-Bark said out of the blue. He prodded his finger at the six of clubs in Damianus' middle caravan. "That's what you're after, says that. Victory, confidence. Do they gives awards for good Courierin'?"

  
Damianus shook his head. "Not to my knowledge," he added after a pause, realizing No-Bark wasn't watching him and he ought to speak.

  
"Hmmm, shame. Might be in the wrong job for gettin' what you want, then. See this?" He scratched at a black stain at the bottom of the next card, the two of clubs. It looked like an ink pen had broken in someone's pack and smeared it.

  
"This card's reversed. Normally it'd mean somethin' else, but it's got a top and a bottom and the bottom's up. Means your path's done been upset by the unknown, and fear thereof. Anything in particular eating at you?"

  
  
_A man shot me in the head recently,_ Damianus thought, _and took a package I carried that was marked for Mr. House._

  
  
He didn't say it aloud; he had a suspicion he'd have a difficult time convincing No-Bark he wasn't a vengeful ghost. Instead he shrugged.

  
  
They played on, and Damianus found himself more interested than he'd thought he'd be. It was still meaningless, the fortunes, but it sounded enough like him to make him curious how it would all play out.

  
  
He took his time to develop the first caravan, his "past," to see what it might say.

  
  
The nine of clubs, No-Bark told him, meant that after the separation he'd experienced he'd endured tests of faith, and become stronger and braver for it.

  
  
It was then that Damianus added a king of clubs to double his nine, still playing it as a game, and No-Bark clucked his tongue.

  
  
"Oooh, he's a tyrant, that one," he said disapprovingly. "A bad, bad man."

  
  
"Who?" Damianus asked. "Me?"

  
  
"No no, this feller here." No-Bark nodded at the king. "He rules over you. 'Specially that part of your life you done put him in, the part that made you tough. He's a mean feller, but a clever one. Done molded you just how he wants you.

  
  
"Who's he s'posed to be?" No-Bark asked, oblivious to the color draining from Damianus' face. "You got a bad relationship with your pa?"

  
Damianus did not stand up abruptly. He did not back away, or stare at No-Bark. Aware of his body language, he contained the... what was it exactly? Shock? Suspicion?

  
  
He looked intently at the card instead, thinking it over.

  
  
Was No-Bark onto him? Had he been watching him? That wasn't possible, he was certain.

  
  
"That a yes?" No-Bark asked cheerfully, more pleased at being correct than concerned for the distress it brought.

 

Damianus looked around, listened closely. He was sure no one was in earshot. They were alone, and No-Bark was... No-Bark.

  
  
"It's my Lord Caesar," he whispered conspiratorially. " _Ave_ ," he added.

  
  
No-Bark snorted.

  
  
"A likely tale." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Alright, _don't_ tell me. I'll figure you out yet, young man."

  
  
Damianus relaxed with a chuckle, and they went on with their game.

  
  
He developed the last caravan next, all but abandoning the other two. He knew he would lose his wager, but that wasn't the point. Perhaps, if pressed, he'd be forced to admit to an increased investment in what else the cards had to say about his future. Perhaps.

  
  
The eight of hearts found its way onto the table, and Damianus looked at No-Bark expectantly, but the old man merely gave it a troubled frown. He played his own card and gestured for Damianus to go again.

  
The five of hearts. No-Bark rubbed his chin and grumbled. "You've a way of picking troubles for yourself," he observed solemnly.

  
  
"Is that what they say?"

  
  
"No. Well, yes. But it's what I say. Nothing good in this hand you've dealt yourself."

  
Damianus looked at the cards as if the explanation would reveal itself there. They were still only hearts and numbers. He'd hoped hearts would bring good news, but he had no way to know the logic No-Bark applied to each suit or number.

  
  
Perhaps there was none. Just the ramblings of an old madman.

  
  
A craggy old hand landed on top of his on the table, the one holding his glasses. Damianus jerked instinctively to pull away but it held on tight a moment.

  
  
Just a moment. Before he'd opened his mouth to warn No-Bark off, the old man gave his knuckles a gentle pat and released him.

  
  
Belatedly recognizing a gesture of comfort, Damianus shut his mouth again.

  
  
"In the future there's you," No-Bark told him, "at that there crossroads, wanting to leave the path you done been on up 'til then and go the other way. Only you'll lose something." He trailed off.

 

  
"If I leave my destined path, you mean," Damianus prompted. "I'll lose something if I deviate."

  
  
"No, feller, you lose before you ever pick a side." No-Bark looked at him sadly. "You'll be abandoned there, and it'll tear you up so bad you shy away from that other road."

  
It occurred to Damianus that this was ridiculous. He was buying into a shill game, staring dumbly back at an aged lunatic like he'd met a true prophet.

 

  
They were _playing cards._

  
Slowly, with the gravitas of a man laying a flower on a grave, No-Bark placed a jack of hearts atop Damianus' five. Reality reasserted itself further. They were playing caravan, not peering into the secrets of the universe. It was a game.

  
The tension of the moment was broken for him, and Damianus leaned back on his stool, breathing out. His face felt hot. Blushing in embarrassment at his own gullability. He looked around to make sure no one had caught him gaping like a child at a scary campfire story.

  
But No-Bark didn't sense the change in the atmosphere. Still deep in his fiction, he lifted the jack and the five tenderly.

  
"This feller here is a messenger," he whispered.

  
Jaw tight with annoyance at himself, Damianus just nodded politely.

  
"Go on then, boy, play another."

  
  
Damianus sighed out of his nose and looked back at his hand. His deck, and subsequently his hand, was primarily hearts; Ringo had advised him to limit the suits he used.

  
  
He played a nine, and No-Bark stared at it.

  
  
Then he broke into a grin.

  
  
" _Therrrre_ it is, there it _is_! Y'see? That old jack brung you good news. A beginning! You could use it," No-Bark cackled, and reached out to slap Damianus' shoulder. Damianus tensed, but allowed it.

  
  
"What news?" he asked patiently. Humoring him.

  
  
"You can still get what you want, that's what news. A happy ending, all your little dreams come true." No-Bark nodded in agreement with himself, then pausesd, and made an iffy gesture with a wobble of his hand. "Ehhh well. The losing part stands, y'see. You're still gonna go through hell, but you're a big-- ... well, you're a _tough_ boy," he added generously.

  
  
"It's all up to you," No-Bark concluded, "whether you lay down or keep going. You can turn it around."

  
  
Damianus nodded and offered a small, grateful smile. It was all bullshit, he knew -- another wide net. _You might win, you might lose, the choice is yours_. He could tell the next idiot he met the same thing and be right eventually one way or the other.

 

Still. It was nice bullshit.

  
  
No-Bark played another card. "Aaaand on that note, that's the game -- in my favor, no less. That's what _my_ cards been saying: No-Bark wins."

  
The old man grinned, mouth full of yellow teeth, and Damianus didn't hold back the laugh. It was easy enough to let it loose, here. No-Bark was a threat only to his caps.

  
The sky had purpled a bit since they'd started, and someone came clanging along to toss kindling into the barrel outside the tent they used for fire. Distant chatter grew gradually louder, signaling the arrival of settlers come to set up a dinner. Damianus wiped the mirth off his face and packed up his cards, then made to stand.

  
"You ain't going nowhere so soon?" No-Bark asked, scooping the last of his winnings into a bag. "Buy you a drink if you stay, seeing as I've got caps to spend."

  
  
"No, thank you," Damianus said. "I don't drink."

  
  
"Buy you a cola, then. Teach you a few things about life, and whatnot, seeing as how -- being a _clone_ \-- you're all fresh and new to it. Doing well enough," he added placatingly, "but there's only so much they can tell you with subliminal tapes played in a tube...

 

"Or is there? Hmm... Maybe you'll tell _me_ something."

  
Damianus looked towards the hotel office. The lights were still on. It wasn't so late yet that it was time for any of the other things he needed to do.

  
  
"Very well, Mister Noonan." Damianus sat back down while No-Bark waved to the traveling merchant setting up just outside. "Perhaps you can teach me how to win caravan."

**Author's Note:**

> I spent entirely too long putting together Dixie's tarot spread -- hearts for cups, spades for swords and clubs for wands.
> 
> There's some heavy-handed foreshadowing towards the end there, but is this set in the canon where he chooses the Legion, or the AU where he gets his shit together with the help of his boyfriend? I honestly don't know. We're riding the line between universes here. You decide.


End file.
